By the Numbers
by Mia Cooper
Summary: One mistaken identity, two fights and three kisses. [P/T, J/P, J/C]
1. Desperate

For the "send me a ship + and number and I'll write you a kiss" meme on tumblr. This is for Paris/Torres + prompt 10: _a kiss, desperately_

===0===

" _Paris to Torres."_

B'Elanna set her lips in a firm line, eyes fixed on her padd. Her skin still itched, even after trying to scrub the paint off in the sonic shower. She decided the itching was Tom's fault, too.

 _K'Leia imagined thrusting her dagger into the faithless heart of Hanog_ , she read. _Never again would that son of a krencha betray her. She would bathe in rivers of his blood before she allowed him to darken her door again_.

"That's right," B'Elanna muttered, scratching the back of her neck. Her fingernail came away lined with gold sparkles. "He's a lying piece of _gagh_."

" _B'Elanna, I know you're in there. Come on, you have to talk to me sometime. Please."_

B'Elanna slapped viciously at her combadge. "No, I don't have to talk to you, Paris!"

" _Hey, that's great_ ," she heard from the other side of her door. " _You're mad at me. I deserve it. Please, B, open up and let me in so you can yell at me as much as you want_."

A growl issued from B'Elanna's throat.

 _Sinking to her knees, K'Leia howled her pain to the skies of Qo'noS_ , she read. _How could she still love that petaQ after what he'd done?_

" _B'Elanna_." Tom's voice was softer now. " _Please let me in_."

B'Elanna flung the padd across the room, stomped to the door and stabbed at the panel with one angry finger. "What?" she snarled when it opened.

Her erstwhile boyfriend stood before her, shoulders slumped. He was still shirtless, his chest shimmering silver. She averted her eyes.

"Hi," Tom said softly.

B'Elanna folded her arms and scowled.

Tom glanced up and down the corridor. "D'you think I could come in?" he asked hopefully. "I saw Seven hanging around with a padd earlier. If she's spying on us again…"

"Fine," snapped B'Elanna, turning her back on him and walking straight over to the cupboard where she kept the alcohol. She tossed back two shots of something yellow in quick succession, welcoming the burn behind her eyes.

"Before you tell me you never want to see me again, could I please explain what you saw?" Tom asked, coming up behind her – but not too close; he still had a sense of self-preservation, after all.

She turned to face him, stony. "It'd better be a damn good explanation."

Encouraged, he took a step forward. "It was all a huge misunderstanding, I swear," he said earnestly. "I know it sounds … preposterous… but I honestly thought she was you…"

As his explanation continued, B'Elanna's expression wavered from disbelief to understanding, to grudging acceptance, and finally her lips twitched in a smile she quickly controlled.

"Do you think you can forgive me?" Tom asked hopefully when he'd finished.

She fixed him with a penetrating stare. "You are one stupid flyboy."

"I know."

"You don't deserve me."

"I know," he repeated, head hanging.

"And I'm still mad at you."

"I understand."

"But…" she took a small step toward him, "I know you're sorry and I get that it was a mistake. A really dumb mistake, but an honest one."

"It was," he said fervently. He inched closer to her and B'Elanna's face turned upward to hold his gaze. He noticed there was still a smudge of gold glitter across her cheek, and another streak of it in her hair.

"And besides," she said, "between that damned body paint and whatever _she's_ threatened you with, I'd say you've already been punished enough."

All the tension rushed out of him and Tom almost sagged in relief. "I'm forgiven?"

"This time," she answered, and gave him that smile that always kicked his heartrate into high gear.

"Can we kiss and make up now?" he grazed her cheekbone with his lips.

"Oh, I think we'd better."

"In that case," he murmured, "did you know that body paint was edible? Because I was hoping you hadn't washed it all off…"

B'Elanna grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him toward her, and the end of his sentence was swallowed in a kiss so fierce and desperate that he hoped that paint wasn't flammable.

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	2. The Art of Diplomacy

For the "send me a ship + and number and I'll write you a kiss" meme on tumblr. This is for Janeway/Paris + prompt 28: _a kiss as a lie_

===0===

He'd been on some weird away missions, but Tom Paris was pretty sure this one took the cake – or in this case, the _jhelen_. At least, he thought that was what this sweet, gooey substance was called. Someone had shoved a bowl of it into his hands; he'd sampled a little and almost been knocked off his feet by the sugar rush.

Or maybe it was the alien liquor their hosts had been plying the _Voyager_ representatives with all evening. He'd caught Chakotay surreptitiously tipping the contents of his glass into a flower arrangement more than once, and Harry had already had to excuse himself after over-indulging. Tom had been pacing himself, but even he was feeling a little woozy.

He wondered what was taking B'Elanna so long. She'd been grumbling all night that the gold body paint and feathered headdress all the _Voyager_ women had been instructed to wear were itchy as hell, and that this was the last time she was going to let Chakotay talk her into one of these stupid diplomatic events, and then she'd mumbled something about checking in with Engineering and disappeared.

Tom sighed. She wasn't wrong about the paint, although the Jessian who'd applied his body art had been kind enough to add some shadowing that made him look as ripped as Ayala, and at least the pants they'd given him to wear were feather-free. B'Elanna had certainly been appreciative when she'd met him after the dressing ritual, and he'd noticed the captain ogling Chakotay even less subtly than usual.

He scanned the crowd again; B'Elanna was nowhere to be seen. Most of the _Voyagers_ seemed to have made their excuses, though he spotted Chakotay with his head bent toward the captain's, leaning against a pillar. Janeway looked pretty hot, he admitted privately. She carried off the sparkles and feathers and skimpy outfit almost as well as B'Elanna did.

Speaking of whom… turning, Tom caught sight of his girlfriend at last. She was out on the terrace, her back turned. As he watched, her hand came up to scratch at her shoulder, and he read annoyance in her stance.

 _Time to get out of here_ , he decided, and pushed through the crowd.

She didn't turn as he came up behind her. "Hey, you," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her from behind and nuzzling into her neck. "I've been thinking about peeling you out of that dress all night. Let's go home so I can rip it off with my teeth," and he turned her, dragging his lips across her jaw until he reached her mouth.

Her lips parted and he took advantage, sliding his tongue across her lower lip. Her hands came up to his chest and for a moment it seemed like she was going to push him away, but he stroked his hands down her back and she made a small sound and tilted her head, her lips softening.

She felt different, he realised. Tasted different, too. Maybe it was the paint…

And then she pulled back with a gasp, bracing her hands on his chest, and he looked into her eyes.

Eyes that were not velvety-brown, but blue. A blue that, as he continued to stare at her, was rapidly turning glacial.

The owner of the eyes spoke in a voice at once frosty and husky.

"Lieutenant Paris," she said, "I strongly suggest you take your hands off me before you find yourself a permanent resident of my brig."

He dropped his arms as if burned and hastily stepped back. "Ca- Captain?"

Janeway put her hands on her hips.

"But I just saw you talking to Chakotay – I thought you were B'Elanna –" Tom whipped around to search the room behind him and let out a squeak.

Standing in the open terrace doorway, face like thunder, was Chakotay.

"Fuck," blurted Tom.

"Paris," Chakotay growled.

"Uh…" Tom cowered. "Where's B'Elanna?"

Chakotay pointed upward. "And I suggest you go after her. You have some explaining to do."

Tom didn't need to be asked twice. Fishing his combadge out of his pants pocket, he whispered, "Paris to _Voyager_. One to beam up. Right now."

As the transporter beam caught him, the last thing he saw was Chakotay turning that angry black stare on the captain.

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	3. Think About This

For the "send me a ship + and number and I'll write you a kiss" meme on tumblr. This is for Janeway/Chakotay + prompt 46: _a kiss out of jealousy_

===0===

"You kissed him back."

Kathryn straightened her spine at his accusatory tone. "I beg your pardon, Commander?"

Chakotay reached behind him and pulled the terrace door closed, firmly and decisively. The hum of chatter immediately dimmed. For no reason at all, Kathryn's pulse picked up.

Her first officer was clearly reining himself in. A deep breath, and Chakotay spoke again, sounding calmer this time. "All right," he said. "It's none of my business what you choose to do in your spare time, or who you choose to be with. But B'Elanna is my friend and I won't stand by and see her hurt. So tell me," his voice had started rising again, "just how long have you and Paris been sneaking around behind her back?"

Kathryn's jaw dropped.

Chakotay snorted. "You two aren't exactly discreet, Kathryn. How long? Two years, three? Since you broke him out of prison? It's why you were so angry when they started dating, isn't it?"

She finally managed to speak through her shock. "I was angry because aliens were messing with my brain chemistry! It had nothing to do with Tom and B'Elanna!" She shook her head. "Chakotay, this is crazy."

"Then tell me I've got it wrong," he demanded. "Tell me why you kissed him back."

"I didn't –" Kathryn stopped, chewing her lip. Had she? In all honesty, could she deny she'd responded to Tom's kiss… even for a moment?

She thought about how it had felt – his lips, his hands – and how long it'd been since anybody touched her that way. Maybe she'd have responded to anyone who treated her like a woman.

It had felt good, she decided defiantly. And even she deserved to feel good once in a while. Didn't she?

She lifted her chin. "So what if I did?" she demanded.

"What about B'Elanna?" Chakotay glowered. "Were you thinking about her when her boyfriend stuck his tongue down your throat?"

"Actually, Chakotay, no I wasn't," Kathryn snapped, stepping closer. "I wasn't thinking about _anyone_ else."

"That much was clear!" Chakotay moved forward a step, glaring down at her.

She knew she'd hurt him – she'd caught the flicker across his face before he masked it with anger – and she felt a twinge of guilt. "He took me by surprise," she muttered.

Chakotay growled something under his breath. "And it took you thirty seconds to come to your senses?"

That annoyed her again. " _And_ he's a good kisser," she shot back. She was shocked at the words coming out of her own mouth, but she couldn't stop. "Very good. Really knows what he's doing, and as for his hands –"

She didn't get any further. Couldn't – not with the hot mouth that stopped her speech, swallowing the bitter words in sweetness. _And skill_ , she thought, breath stuttering in her throat, _wow, talk about knowing what he's doing_ …

And that was before she felt warm hands spreading across her back, drawing her closer, or the way her arms raised and curled around his neck and her body moulded to his, or his assurance as he nudged her backward into the shadows until her back hit the wall – she was grateful for it, really, and for the hard press of his thigh between hers, because her own legs were too weak to hold her up –

Chakotay pulled back, breathing hard, one arm still supporting her around the waist as he wiped his mouth the back of his other hand.

"So tell me, Kathryn," his voice was rough, "were you thinking about Tom Paris just now?"

"Who?" she said faintly, eyes wide.

"Good answer," he said with a touch of smugness she supposed he'd earned, and he leaned in to kiss her again.

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